


Don't Believe a Word

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Craigslist, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Gay Panic, Holidays, M/M, Meet the Family, Pining, Scheming, Strangers to Lovers, does it count as gay panic if they already know they're gay? whatever, guess who's writing more thirsty roman lmao, ig, overly detailed descriptions of mox's cheeks, vague homophobia, whats up im back on my bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: He doesn’t even think of bringing a fake boyfriend until he gets the link.It’s Jimmy who sends it to him, amidst a string of texts about how Roman needed to get out of his own head. He balks when he sees Craigslist, but he’s sick of being asked if he has a girlfriend and he’s got a week before Christmas and ok, maybe he’s a little desperate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Craigslist Guy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5246816) by [Neffectual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual). 



Roman’s not desperate.

He’s not. He… simply has a problem that needs to be solved. Yeah. That’s it.

His  _ problem _ is that he’s been single for over a year and his family can’t seem to take a  _ fucking hint _ because they’re constantly asking him about kids. It doesn’t matter to them that he’s been out for 4 years.

He’s tried to have fake partners before, but Sasha couldn’t play straight worth shit and Becky picked a fight with the biggest guy in the house at least twice. His only other female friend, Charlotte, flat out refused because there was no way they’d make a believable couple. 

He doesn’t even think of bringing a fake  _ boyfriend _ until he gets the link.

It’s Jimmy who sends it to him, amidst a string of texts about how Roman needed to get out of his own head. He balks when he sees  _ Craigslist _ , but he’s sick of being asked if he has a girlfriend and he’s got a week before Christmas and ok, maybe he’s a little desperate.

The ad is surprisingly well written. It’s weird, seeing it printed in front of him in black and white, an out to all his problems, but there it is, sitting open on his computer for three days before he makes a decision. 

_ Well, it’s that time of year again. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you're still single? About how your parents really want more grandchildren? Well, look no further! _

_ I’m Mox, a 33-year-old felon with no high school degree and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 24 and 35 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for the holidays, but I’m game to pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you and torment your family. _

_ I can do these things, at your request:  _

 

  * __openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don't notice.__


  * _start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion._


  * _propose to you in front of everyone._


  * _pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don't drink, but I used to. a lot. too much in fact. I know the drill)._


  * _Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see._


  * _I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest!_



 

_ I look forward to being your fake date this holiday season :) _

There’s a picture attached, and, well. The guy’s certainly not hard on the eyes. He looks broad, his arms and chest stretching out his t-shirt, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulder. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored shades, but the crooked slant of his grin is visible. His smile scrunches his nose and the curve it adds to his chubby cheeks, visible even though his ginger beard, is oddly charming. His head is shaved close, a little less red than his beard. He has two earrings.

All in all, he seems like the perfect date. He’s precisely Roman’s type, and exactly the kind of guy his parents would  _ hate _ . He seems friendly enough, so the company wouldn’t be terrible, and he’s certain  _ Mox  _ would give Roman’s tiny Catholic grandmother a heart attack in the best way. Hell, even his  _ name _ is perfect, something weird and off-putting. 

Four days before he has to be at his parent’s house, he sends Mox a message. 

_ Hello there. I’m Roman, a 32-year-old fitness instructor whose family won’t leave him alone about kids despite being out. My family is very large, very Catholic, and relentless about this. There would be more than enough food to feed you for a week, and even if you insult everyone, you’ll probably still leave with leftovers. It’s a bit of a drive since I’m going from Orlando to Pensacola, and we’re supposed to be there for about a week. Let me know if you can help. Thanks. _

Seth needles him for it, says it’s too formal, but he doesn’t have any better ideas, so it gets sent anyway. He’s a little worried about pretending to be dating someone who openly admitted to being a  _ felon _ , but Roman’s a big guy and he’s certain he can handle himself if anything goes tits-up. 

It only takes a day to get a response.

_ Hey there! I’d be happy to help! The drive is no issue, and I’m certain that, if you want me to, I could get us kicked out within two days. I can help pay for gas if you’d like, as well as any other food we might buy along the way. You can reach me at the following number and we can set something up. _

Roman sends Mox a quick text, letting him know he’d greatly appreciate the help. He gets a smiley face in response. 

Wha the hell is he getting himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got so far away from me it's currently winning the 2030 winter olympics

Mox is shockingly nice. 

He and Roman talk for a day or two before agreeing to anything, just laying out the situation on both ends. Roman learns that Mox didn’t lie in the Craigslist post; he dropped out of high school at 17, got arrested at 23 for vandalizing government property  _ (“But they totally deserved it”),  _ and he works at a dive bar in Orlando. Roman tells him about the situation, the frustration, the pressure from his family to be in a long term relationship. Mox balks a little when Roman tells him how  _ big _ his family is, but the hesitation goes out the window as soon as Roman mentions the food.

Mox lives in a rough part of town, the kind of place where Roman prefers not to drive through and keeps his windows locked during. The apartment he was given the address of looks like it’s seen better days, but honestly, Roman wouldn’t be surprised if it had always looked like that. Mox is standing on the sidewalk, walking in a half circle, a beat up duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

His pacing stops when Roman pulls up in front of him. Mox gets in the car, tossing his bag in the backseat. He’s halfway through putting on his seatbelt when he looks up, eyes wide and focused on Roman.

“You’re Roman, right? Because if not, then I’m so sorry, I thought you were my…  _ date _ .” Roman almost shivers at Mox’s  _ voice _ . It’s hot and gravelly, rough with cigarettes and screaming, sex personified. It’s terribly distracting, as is the way his lips are bitten red and swollen.

Roman only realizes he’s been staring when Mox’s eyebrow quirks. “Shit, sorry. Yeah, I’m Roman. You’re Mox, right? Just wanna make sure before I drive off with the wrong guy.” Roman doesn’t quite know what to say, but he must choose the right thing, because Mox’s lips quirk into an easy grin. His eyes are  _ blue _ , startling and clear in their intensity.

“You’ve got the right guy.” Mox reassures him, settling into the passenger seat. He clicks his seatbelts and returns his hands to his lap, where he fiddles with the loose end of his belt. It doesn’t feel like a sexual thing, or even a movement with any intent behind it; it’s more like he just has too much energy and that’s the only thing he can mess with.

He’s wearing a pair of torn black skinny jeans and a  _ tight _ white t-shirt under his fur-lined leather jacket, the jeans covered in military patches and bleach spots. It’s a distracting outfit, especially when Mox shifts and his shirt rides up to reveal the beginnings of a happy trail.

Roman tears his eyes away, staring at the road as he starts the drive. He did  _ not _ think this through, because Mox is horribly attractive and  _ holy shit _ Roman has to pretend to  _ date _ this man. He gulps, hands tightening around the steering wheel. Fuck.

“You nervous?” Mox asks, gesturing to Roman’s clenched hands with a lazy finger. He has a few tattoos on his hands. They look like old stick and pokes that never got the chance to heal properly, faded and blown out. If Roman had to guess, he’d say Mox got them in prison.

“You could say that.” Roman manages to tear his eyes away from the strong line of Mox’s fingers, his long nails, his rings. He rolls his jaw a little, shifting in his seat to alleviate the tension in the pit of his stomach. 

“Can you hand me your phone?” Mox asks after a moment, his voice  _ loud _ compared to the soft rock playing through the speakers. Roman jolts at the suddenness, brow furrowed as he hazards a glance at Mox.

“Why? You’ve got a phone.” He says, finger twitching against the steering wheel. The tips of his fingers are going a little numb from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel, so he forces himself to relax his grip. He focuses on the road ahead of them, something simple and easy and  _ safe _ .

“It’ll be easier if I can go through your Facebook to see your family. Put faces to names, get a little bit of info, y’know? If you’re not comfortable with it, then we can just talk ‘bout ‘em.” Mox shrugs lazily, slouching in his seat. One of his knees is pressed to the dashboard, which spreads his legs unconsciously and strains the worn, threadbare denim of his jeans at the apex of his thighs.

Roman gulps, makes himself look away  _ again _ . There’s just something about Mox that draws all attention to him, like he puts too much air into the room, like he’s got a fucking spotlight following him. It works for what they’re trying to do, he supposes, the way Mox takes up space and can’t leave the limelight, all brashness and rough edges and dirty smiles and lewd humor and pretty lips and-. And Roman’s getting ahead of himself and this is getting out of hand  _ very quickly _ and he doesn’t know if he can get it back on track.

“Phone’s in the cupholder. Passcode is 9628.” He doesn’t look at Mox again, doesn’t know if he could control himself if he did.  _ Jesus _ , this is a bad idea. He suddenly realizes he hasn’t seen his family since  _ last _ Christmas, and  _ this _ is what he’s dumping on them. Christ.

“You ok if I make us Facebook official? Might make this more believable, if you wanna play like it’s a long-term thing.” It’s said so casually that Roman doesn’t even think before agreeing. It’s only when he listens to the quiet music as Mox types that it hits him. He really didn’t think this through.

“Alright, family. You’re mom’s Patricia, right? Tiny older woman who looks like she could snap me in half?” Roman huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah. She’s Italian, so that’s where she gets the take-no-shit thing from. She never let me get away with  _ anything _ when I was a kid.” Probably wouldn’t let him get away with anything  _ now _ , come to think of it. Roman almost feels guilty that he’s bringing Mox home to her. She deserves better.

“Aw man, so you’re telling me you weren’t a spoiled mama’s boy. Damn, there goes half my material.” Mox jokes, letting out a breathy, surprisingly high laugh. It’s a genuine sound, something unconscious, and it’s  _ worrying,  _ how endearing it is.

“My only big rule for this is that you can’t insult my mother. Pretty much anything else is free, except for that. She’s a saint, doesn’t need that shit.” Roman says after a moment. He feels like he has to extend some form of kindness to her, especially after all she’s done for him. It doesn’t stop the guilt from curling in his stomach.

“Duly noted.”

There’s silence for a while as Mox scrolls through Roman’s phone. It should make him uncomfortable, this stranger, this  _ felon _ , going through his personal accounts, but it doesn’t. It’s almost comfortable, familiar in a delightfully foreign way, to have Mox making snide comments about whatever dumb stuff he finds, mostly things from Seth.

“Dude, you’ve got a  _ ton _ of family. I’m sure some entire bloodlines aren’t as big as this.” Mox’s voice is almost  _ awed _ , like he’s never entertained the  _ thought _ of family this big. Roman knows it’s a lot, logically, but he’s so used to a house full of cousins he doesn’t even know how he’s related to that he doesn’t really think about it until he hears the hushed tone of Mox’s words. He shifts uncomfortably.

“Only  _ really _ important ones are Mom, Dad, and the twins. Dad’s a hardass, but he means well. Nice enough guy if you can get him talking. The twins, Jimmy and Jey, are my cousins. Closest friends I had growing up. It’ll be hard to get under their skin, so it might not be worth the trouble.” He mumbles, voice quiet. 

“Are you ok? You look like you’re about to hurl and I’m pretty sure you’d break the steering wheel if you gripped it any tighter.” Huh. He’s right. Roman hadn’t even  _ realized _ he’d tightened his grip again, but he feels the ache in his knuckles when he straightens out his fingers. He flexes them a few times to work the blood flow back into them before settling one on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift.

“Just stressed, I guess. I haven’t seen my family since last Christmas, because work kept me swamped every time there was an event or holiday. I just… I feel kinda bad? Like. My family means well, even if it’s frustrating, and here I am about to fuck up the holidays.” He mumbles. He fights the urge to run a hand through his hair, knows it’ll only ruin the hair he carefully slicked into a bun that morning.

Mox sighs. “We don’t have to do this, man. I can go and act like your nice partner, or as a friend. Hell, you can just. Drop me off at the nearest rest stop and I’ll get a cab to take me home.” His hand rests on Roman’s, his thumb tracing a lazy path against the side of Roman’s palm. It’s shockingly comforting, so Roman doesn’t tell him to move it.

“It’s fine. I think as long as you leave my mom alone I’ll be fine. I never really see most of this family anyway.” He shrugs and tries to keep his hand from twitching.

Mox studies him for a moment, like he’s  _ looking _ for something. He must find what he’s looking for, sees something he likes, because he nods to himself. He doesn’t move his hand. Instead, he goes back to scrolling through Roman’s phone, asking little questions here and there about different family members he finds.

They’re quiet for a good hour, save for small chit-chat, before Mox explodes.

His hands flail a little, wrists flapping. He seems excited, if the grin on his lips and the flush of his cheeks are anything to go by. He struggles with his words for a moment before exclaiming, “Your dad’s  _ Sika?” _ He sounds like a kid in a fucking candy store, voice high and excited, eyes twinkling in the early morning light. 

Roman rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “You’re a wrestling fan, huh? Yeah, it was kinda a family business for a while.” He says, sheepish, suddenly feeling like a kid talking to a pretty boy for the first time. 

“Dude! That’s fucking  _ awesome! _ I grew up watching that shit. Almost broke my arm as a kid trying to do an elbow drop like Bret Hart.” Dean’s hands are still flapping, a blur of pale skin and faded ink. The curve of his cheeks and the slant of his front tooth make him look  _ younger _ , melts a good ten years off his face.

This is easy. Roman can talk about wrestling until he’s blue in the face. This is  _ safe _ , a topic he can focus on so he isn’t looking at the slant of Mox’s mouth. That’s proving to be harder and harder, though, especially with the way his mouth is working overtime around words that don’t come out. Despite this, Roman can’t find anything to say.  Even though he knows stats and stories and more than any one person should ever know about anything, his mind comes blank.

There isn’t much conversation between them for the next hour. Mox keeps looking through Roman’s phone, but he doesn’t say much of anything. Roman doesn’t speak either, can’t force the words around the admiration in his throat. Every time he looks over, he’s struck by the fact that Mox is  _ gorgeous _ .

They’re a little over halfway there when they stop.

It’s some roadside diner in Tallahassee, with burgers bigger than Roman’s head and enough grease to drown someone. He knows he’s gonna have to work overtime to burn all this off, especially when added onto all the food he’s gonna be eating because his parents cook enough for a fucking  _ army _ , but he can’t be bothered to care. It’s been so  _ long _ since he’s had a proper cheat day, since he just  _ indulged _ without thinking about calorie counts and how many crunches he’ll have to do. It’s nice, and it’s made even better by Mox sitting across from him.

Halfway through the meal, Mox’s head snaps up. He’d been hunched over his plate as he ate, as if he’s scared someone will take his food. It makes Roman a little sad, thinking about how that might have been his reality.

“We need to come up with a backstory. How we met, first date, if we’ve kissed.” He interrupts himself by taking a long pull from his smoothie, leaving a smear of whipped cream on his nose. It’s, quite frankly,  _ adorable _ in a dangerous way.

Roman gestures to Mox’s nose and tries not to laugh at the way the younger man crosses his eyes to try and look. He swipes at his nose with his napkin but only succeeds with smearing it. Roman leans across the table and cleans it with his thumb without thinking. Mox gives him a dumbfounded look.

“You said you worked in a bar, right? Maybe we could say we met on your shift one night.” Roman shrugs, pulling his arm back into his lap. Mox doesn’t respond, for a long moment, just stares at Roman like he just found the meaning of life.

“If your family doesn’t know the place I work. Combat Zone’s a seedy dive and there’s more fights there than drinking.” Mox shrugs, looking down at the table. He seems  _ embarrassed _ , almost, like he’s ashamed to work in such a place. He looks like he’s trying to hide behind hair he doesn’t have anymore.

“We can just say it was a bar. Or you came into my gym for training.” Roman offers, studying Mox. There’s a flush over the younger man’s cheeks, half-hidden through his beard. He looks up at Roman through his lashes with something like relief spelled across his face.

“The bar story would have a better shock factor, to be honest. Who asked who out?” Mox asks, dipping a fry into his milkshake. His chewing is a little loud, but it’s not as annoying as Roman expected. 

He thinks for a moment before responding. “Honestly? I’m  _ really _ shy, so I doubt anyone would believe me if we said I asked you out.” He thinks for a moment, nudging a fry through the grease leeching across his plate. “It’d be most likely if you took me out on a few dates without me realizing that they were, like.  _ Dates _ .” He feels his face flush, all the way from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest.

Mox makes a noise that can only be described as a  _ coo _ . “Baby, that’s so cheesy.” He grins, pushing his plate away. His food is mostly eaten, only a few fries and the edges of his pancakes left. It’s oddly endearing, the way he carefully cut off the slightly crispier edges of the pancakes before eating.

Roman tries not to squirm at the nickname. There’s something about being called  _ that _ , called something  _ delicate _ and  _ soft _ that makes his stomach roll with something other than unease. He would rather  _ not _ chub up and have to explain it to Mox.

Mox studies Roman for a long moment. There’s something in his eyes, something shrewd and trenchant, that makes Roman feel  _ exposed _ , like all his thoughts and feelings and desires are laid out on the table, along with every cent he’s ever earned and all the sins he’s committed. It’s like Mox  _ knows _ all the thoughts blurring through Roman’s mind, like dandelion seeds in a strong breeze.

“What kind of physical affection are you ok with?” Mox asks next, reaching across the table. He takes the pickle spear off Roman’s plate and bites into it, sharp white teeth against the starting green of the fruit. His lips look  _ red  _ contrasted against the green. He crunches noisily as he awaits Roman’s reply.

“Um. I’m ok with casual stuff? Hand holding, a hand on the back, things like that.” He rubs the back of his neck hangdogly. “I don’t know about kissing, but there’ll probably be mistletoe, so.” Mox nods silently, like he’s thinking, mulling something over. “Oh! And just to warn you; there’s this thing in Samoan culture called a ‘hongi.’ It’s basically a headbutt, but it’s used as a greeting. Just don’t wanna have you caught off guard.”

Mox’s smile turns into a  _ grin _ , hungry, feral. There are too many shadows in the recesses of his mouth, too many teeth that are too sharp. It’s something reminiscent of a shark, of a starving lion, predatory and dark. “How much trouble would I get in if I knocked someone out with one?” He asks, voice rough in his throat.

Roman shivers a little. Mox is intense, turned a little  _ severe _ at the possibility of violence. It should be terrifying, and sure, there’s a little bit of fear sliding along Roman’s spine, but it’s overwhelmed by a sense of  _ want _ . This is getting out of hand.

“You might have some trouble. We’ve got thick skulls, been cracking foreheads since we were kids.” He knocks a knuckle against the edge of his hairline. The dull ache that spreads out from the motion grounds him, a little, makes it fractionally easier to look at Mox and  _ not _ lose his control.

Mox laughs. “Betcha $20 I can knock out the biggest guy there.” He goads. It brings Roman back to high school, when he and the twins would make dumb bets about the smallest thing. He remembers losing a week’s worth of allowance because he couldn’t jump from the tree in his backyard to the roof. Roman finds himself nodding in agreement.

Mox braces an elbow against the table, hand outstretched almost as if he’s getting ready for an arm-wrestling contest. His fingers curl in, except for a crooked, heavily bruised pinkie. The tattoos spread out at the base of the finger are almost lost in the spattering of blues and purples staining his skin. It looks like it’s been broken recently. He’s missing the top joint of the finger.

“Pinky promise?” His tongue pokes out between his teeth. His cheeks are so  _ round _ , chubby and full, like he never lost his baby fat. It’s at odds with the split lip and bruises decorating the curve of his eye socket. His nose is crooked.

It’s so  _ juvenile _ , something made for school children, something Roman hasn’t done since he was 7. There’s a weird disconnect, pairing an adolescent gesture with Mox’s beaten up visage and the fact they’re making this gesture over a bet about Mox knocking out a member of Roman’s family. It should make him feel  _ something _ negative, something like shame, or disgust, or confusion.

He locks pinkies with Mox.

Mox’s fingers are rough, even with the simple locking. There are calluses built on his skin, the kind that you get from working with your hands, calluses that tell a story of heavy lifting and manual labor. Roman has to fight back a shiver at the way they rasp against his skin.

As he watches Dean finish the rest of Roman’s burger, he can’t help but think that he’s really overestimated himself here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire story could alternatively be titled "I Have a Lot of Feelings About Mox and So Does Roman" and it would probably fit better

The rest of the drive is surprisingly easy.

It’s getting less difficult for Roman to look at Mox without almost losing his shit. Maybe it’s the amount of time they’re spending together (there was bad traffic around Ponce de Leon, so the drive is edging towards 7 hours), or the fact that Mox is seeming more  _ human _ with every new fact Roman learns, or maybe the novelty of spending time alone with a hot guy is wearing off. Roman doesn’t care about the specifics, but he’s glad the change happens.

Around an hour from Roman’s parent’s house, Mox sits up in his seat. He’s been slouching for most of the ride, lounging back with one knee braced against the dashboard. His movement is sudden, like he’s been shocked, before turning to face Roman.

“Alright, so how do we want to play this? What’s the shit that’ll get me the most heat?” Mox asks, his knee bouncing against the edge of the seat. He seems excited, his top lip tucked against his teeth. His fingers are flexing open and closed, held near his chest.

Roman sighs and thinks for a moment. “Religion, for sure. Politics. Trying to hit on my sisters will probably end up with you getting some teeth knocked in. Trying to fight someone might not get you in a lot of shit unless you like.  _ Go _ for it. Play fighting and shit is kinda normal for us.” He shrugs, focusing on the long stretch of highway in front of him instead of on the way Mox is practically bouncing in his seat.

Mox nods, his tongue running across the front of his teeth. He keeps up the movement as he thinks, head bopping up and down almost like his neck can’t support the weight. “Your family’s catholic, right?” He asks after a moment.

Roman nods. “Most of ‘em, yeah. My mom and grandma are the most devout, but everyone’s pretty big on it. I’m the exception.” 

“D’you think we’re going to get dragged to Christmas morning Mass or something, or is it more of an optional thing?” 

Roman laughs. “Well, my mom will probably hound us about it, and I’m sure at least three of my aunts will try to physically drag us there, but I doubt they’ll  _ force _ us to go.” He explains. He remembers this, remembers years worth of Christmas sermons and blessings. He wonders if the same preacher still does the service.

“I can work with that. You mentioned your sisters?” Mox is fully sideways in his seat now, curled up in a ball much smaller than a man his size should be able to accomplish. He’s long since taken off his jacket, leaving him in just the white t-shirt that Roman  _ swears _ is at least a size too small. Focusing on the road is getting harder, a mixture of the monotony of the highway and the flex of Mox’s arms as he crosses them making it downright impossible to stare at the asphalt.

“Yeah, I’ve got two of ‘em. There’s Elizabeth, my older sister, who’s less likely to slap you. Her husband, on the other hand… My younger sister is Mia and she can and will rip your eyes out if you so much as  _ look _ at her wrong.” Roman doesn’t miss the way Mox’s eyes light up.

“How much risk am I at if I try and hit on Mia while you’re like. Right there?” 

Roman laughs, a sound that’s a little too sharp, a little too revealing. “Scale of one to ten? Probably a 12. Not only will she try to rip you apart, my family would flay you alive.” It’s not too much of an exaggeration; Roman loves his family, but they can be a bit...much.

“What if I pretend to propose?”

Roman chokes on his own spit.

“Um. Well. If we play this like a short-term relationship then that’ll get a rise for sure. Especially if it’s done later on, when more shit’s been done.” He tries not to focus on the clamminess of his palms, or the shortness of his breath, or how Mox looks all the world like the cat that ate the canary, all red lips and deep dimples and legs spread  _ just _ enough to be considered indecent.

Roman has the not-so-fleeting thought that Mox is perfect, and he’s not sure if he means that only in relation to the ruse.

“An easy way to start off on the wrong foot would be refusing hugs. We’re… well, tactile is an understatement. Everyone will take it personally if you don’t.” He offers weakly. 

Mox nods, knee jumping a little anxiously. “Won’t be too hard. ‘M not big on that shit anyway.” His shrug is jerky, forced casualness in the most glaring of ways. 

The rest of the ride is spent in relative silence. Roman forces his mind to stay on the road, on the car, on not getting into an accident. Mox looks loss in thought, his tongue trapped between his teeth, making notes on his phone. His head moves side to side, almost like he’s dancing to a beat only he can hear. It’s painfully endearing.

Finally, after one last, terse hour, they arrive. The house isn’t anything particularly opulent, something drearily mundane, entirely  _ in place _ in the Pensacola suburbs. Mox reacts like it’s a  _ mansion _ , though, eyes a little wide as his jaw slacks. Roman fights down a wave of embarrassment.

“Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cherry-mox on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
